


Practice

by DawningStar



Category: Speed Racer (2008)
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-23
Updated: 2009-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-05 01:41:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawningStar/pseuds/DawningStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're the one who's always saying I'm a better driver than most of the WRL," Trixie argued.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Practice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ryn](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Ryn).



    There was very little that Speed Racer, age sixteen, hated worse than the feel of losing. And nothing that he’d tried, within the limits of this race, had been any use to shake his competition. 
     Speed punched the acceleration, but the other car clung to the inside curve with precise, efficient turns. Night-black with ominous flames painted up the side, it kept the lead despite his effort to crowd his opponent into flinching--barely a centimeter to spare, and Speed winced himself. Trixie would kill him if he scratched the paint. 
     The flag-line flashed by, and Speed knew he’d lost. 
     The other driver’s victory whoop rang loud in his headset, and he had to grin despite the twist in his gut as he skidded the Mach Five to a halt beside the competing car. “That one is _mine_, Speed!” 
     “You beat me,” he admitted ruefully. “Nice driving, Trix.” 
     She was still laughing as she leaped out of the car, and her hair bounced neatly back into place as she took off her helmet and shook her head. Speed hurried to join her, with a worried glance at the gleaming surface of the artistically flame-covered car. He was pretty sure he hadn’t actually scraped it. “Up to standard, is it?” 
     “Certified Racer Motors quality,” Trixie agreed, running a hand over her artwork and flipping the hood open to peer at the engine lines. “Excellent acceleration, tight cornering--did you see that turn?” 
     He grimaced. “I was hoping you’d slow down there.” 
     Trixie tossed him a knowing look. “I saw you hoping that when we laid out the course, Speed.” 
     In three years of driving against each other, ever since they’d gotten their provisional Enclosed Track Only licenses for full-size cars, Speed supposed he might have gotten a bit predictable. It didn’t seem quite fair, because even when he watched Trixie trace out the twists of a new course, he couldn’t tell what she planned to do with them. Then again, every race was brand-new to Trixie, who test-drove the completed Racer Motors products and never had quite the same car twice, where Speed knew every reaction of the Mach Five better than he knew his own hands. 
     “I’m sure you’ll beat me next time,” Trixie assured him, “there’s no need to look so wounded--it’s not like you haven’t won the last five times. Nothing to be ashamed of.” An unusual vulnerability trickled in for a moment, and she bit her lip. “I’m not _that_ bad a driver.” 
     “You’re better at this than most of the WRL drivers would be,” Speed said, ducking around the flame-painted car to check the tires. “Race cockpits have to be exactly tuned--you’ve heard people complain about a quarter-inch costing them a win--and here you are hopping into every car we’ve ever built and driving it like it was made for you.” Trixie, of course, knew every gear and weld in every car as well as Speed did himself, but that didn’t make it any easier to drive a car custom-built for Mr. Sutton of Cosmopolis who stood 192 and a half centimeters. 
     But that was Trixie. She’d slid right into the insanity of the Racer family as though she belonged there, too, and Speed had never been so grateful for anything in his life. 
     “Thanks, Speed,” Trixie said, sounding touched. 
     Speed changed the subject hastily, “I’d love to go again, but if we’re going to get this car delivered we really don’t have time.” 
     She nodded. “I’d hate to miss your mom’s lunch.” 
     “Anyway,” Speed added, “Spritle’s probably in the trunk, so we’d better get him home before long.” 
     Trixie looked doubtfully at the silent Mach Five. “Are you sure? He’s usually louder by now.” 
     In Speed’s experience, unless you were actually looking at either Spritle or an empty trunk, it was always safe to assume that Spritle was in the trunk. This had been true since Spritle’s sixth birthday, when he’d learned how to trip the latch. Speed shrugged and opened the trunk lid. 
     His little brother blinked at him. “You let Trixie beat you!” he accused, sounding terribly betrayed. Chim-Chim, who had apparently come along for the ride, squawked mournfully. 
     “You shouldn’t hide in there when you know we’re going to race,” Speed scolded, not for the first time. “It could be dangerous.” 
     “Oh, like you’d ever crash the Mach Five,” Spritle snorted, unimpressed. “Anyway, I know you know Pops installed an extra KwikSave in the trunk. But you lost to Trixie! Again! How could you?” 
     Speed rolled his eyes and shut the lid again. Trixie tried to swallow a giggle, with mixed success. “Sorry, Speed,” she said. “I didn’t realize what I was putting you through.” 
     He grinned. “Spritle will get over it eventually. Rematch when we finish the next car?” 
     “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she promised. 


End file.
